6. Walking, Watching, Deviating, Returning.

Paryushan Day 5: Walking, Watching and Returning to the Path

It is so critical to be calm amid the chaos.

The more I think about it, the more I feel that there are predominantly two ways of approaching this calmness.

One is Daman.

An effort to control the mind, control the reactions and somehow remain calm in the middle of a difficult situation.

This can certainly work. At times, it works beautifully.

But there is a limitation. When calmness is an effort, the possibility of fumbling always remains. The moment the pressure becomes greater than my capacity to control, the suppressed reaction can surface.

The other is Shaman.

Not forced calmness, but a natural settling.

And perhaps the difference between the two lies in understanding rather than effort.

When the logic is truly understood and becomes deeply settled within, peace does not have to be manufactured. It begins to happen naturally.

The logic, for me, is awareness.

Awareness that what is happening is happening to the body, the mind, the ego, the circumstances and the identities associated with them.

And "I" am the one witnessing it.

I find a simple example useful.

If someone insults a stranger in front of me, I may feel empathy. I may understand the pain. I may even feel disturbed by the injustice.

But somewhere within, there is clarity that the insult is not happening to me.

I can witness it without becoming the victim of it.

The moment the same insult is directed towards me, however, something changes.

Why?

The event has not fundamentally changed.

My identification with the event has changed.

And that, perhaps, is where Saakshibhaav begins becoming more than an idea.

It becomes a way of seeing.

A way of living.

A way of remembering that there is a distinction between what is happening and the one who is witnessing what is happening.

The deeper I explore the scriptures, the more fascinating this becomes.

There seem to be layers and layers of understanding.

And strangely, the deeper I go, the simpler it seems to become.

That itself feels almost paradoxical.

More understanding, less complication.

More clarity, less struggle.

More awareness, less reaction.

And somewhere underneath all of this lies a thought that repeatedly makes me stop and wonder:

What have I been doing since the beginningless state of time?

Perhaps this is why the journey matters so much.

Walking is important.

Walking on the path that leads towards the purpose I am here to serve is important.

But perhaps equally important is having the clarity that if I deviate, or take a detour, I can recognise it and manoeuvre my way back.

A detour does not have to become a destination.

A mistake does not have to become an identity.

A deviation does not mean the path has disappeared.

I simply need enough discernment to recognise where I am and enough Purusharth to return.

And this discernment seems to play a crucial role.

Perhaps spiritual growth is not merely about collecting more beliefs.

It may actually require me to attack some of my own beliefs.

To question my insistences.

To examine the things I hold on to so tightly.

To ask myself:

"Is this really true?"

"Or do I simply want it to be true?"

"Is this understanding?"

"Or is this another form of attachment to my own understanding?"

If the exploration is undertaken with openness, something remarkable can happen.

The exploration itself becomes transformative.

The milestones become more meaningful because they are not milestones of achievement. They are milestones of understanding.

Restraints and the real purpose of Paryushan

Paryushan naturally brings a greater focus on restraints.

Perhaps that is understandable.

Restraints are visible.

They make these eight days look different from our routine lives. They provide an external expression to something that is essentially an internal journey.

And because I live within a social setup, I inevitably participate in that external expression too.

But this also makes me wonder:

What happens when the restraint becomes more important than the transformation it is supposed to facilitate?

If the journey is internal, and the experience can ultimately only be experienced rather than explained, then an external restraint can become either a powerful tool or merely an external display.

The difference lies in what is happening within.

I am certainly not saying that restraints are wrong.

Far from it.

A restraint can be an incredibly powerful instrument.

But an instrument has value only when it is used for the purpose for which it exists.

I may have a hammer in my hand, but if I use it as a paperweight, the problem is not with the hammer.

I am simply not using the hammer as a hammer.

Perhaps the same applies to restraints.

If a restraint becomes a means of proving something, showing something, or accumulating a sense of spiritual superiority, its deeper purpose may get diluted.

There may still be some punya involved. There may still be some discipline. There may still be some benefit.

But is that what the restraint was really meant for?

This is where introspection becomes important.

And there is another thought that has been coming to me.

Perhaps, as understanding deepens, the quantity of restraints matters less than their quality.

Not because quantity is irrelevant, but because the real value of a restraint lies in whether I am comprehending and aligning with the purpose behind it.

If that alignment is happening, then bingo.

The path becomes clearer.

The footwear is set.

The navigation is known.

The direction is established.

The pace may vary.

Pit stops may happen.

Detours may happen.

I may even stumble.

But that is okay.

What matters is that I know the path and, more importantly, I know the purpose.

Purusharth and what is not in my hands

Of course, life will continue to bring situations.

There may be unexpected issues at the workplace.

There may be challenges in the family.

There may be situations in the outer world that demand my attention.

I cannot use Saakshibhaav as an excuse for passivity.

If something needs to be done, it needs to be done.

If a problem needs to be solved, it needs to be solved.

If Purusharth is required, I need to put in 100 percent, perhaps even more.

But there is a subtle difference between giving 100 percent and carrying 100 percent of the outcome on my head.

That distinction feels important.

I need to put in my Purusharth fully.

But at the same time, I want to keep reminding myself:

Gnaani na gnaan ma je aavyu chhe, te j thashe.

What is destined to unfold according to the understanding of the Gnaani will unfold.

This does not reduce my effort.

It simply reduces my unnecessary ownership of the result.

I can work intensely without inviting unnecessary pressure.

I can act completely without becoming consumed by anxiety.

I can give my best without believing that the universe has appointed me as the sole manager of the outcome.

Perhaps this too is Saakshibhaav.

Doing what is mine to do.

Witnessing what unfolds.

And maintaining the discernment to know the difference.

The larger picture

When I step back and look at all of this, one thought keeps returning:

Sat, Dev, Guru and Dharma ni aseem krupa chhe. Eternally. Forever. Always.

And alongside that:

Karmo ni fantastic arrangements chhe. So far.

There is something deeply peaceful in seeing both together.

The Grace is infinite.

The karmic arrangements are precise.

And within this combination, everything begins to look strangely beautiful.

Even the difficult parts.

Even the detours.

Even the situations that I initially want to resist.

Perhaps the serenity does not come from believing that everything will happen according to what I want.

It comes from understanding that everything does not have to happen according to what I want.

That is a very different kind of peace.

And perhaps this is where the journey from Daman towards Shaman begins.

Not by trying harder to remain peaceful.

But by understanding more deeply why I need not be disturbed in the first place.

The body will experience.

The mind will react.

The ego will claim.

Circumstances will change.

Karmas will unfold.

I will continue to do my Purusharth.

And through all of this, there is an invitation to remain a witness.

Not indifferent.

Not irresponsible.

Not detached from the world in the sense of becoming insensitive.

But aware.

Participating fully, while remembering that I am not merely the participant.

Perhaps I am closer than I think

I strongly feel:

"Ek ansh shaata hi karine purnamkaamta sudhi ni sarva samadhi nu kaaran Sat, Dev, Guru ane Dharma chhe."

Even a small fraction of true peace, when understood and lived rightly, can become a cause for moving towards completeness and ultimate Samadhi.

And this is not merely an emotional statement for me.

There is a logic behind it.

The discernment that exists today did not appear from nowhere.

Whatever understanding has brought me here has itself emerged through the journey so far.

Which makes me wonder whether I am perhaps much closer to the shore than I realise.

I may not have reached the other side.

There may still be a lot of walking left.

There may be many more detours to recognise.

Many more beliefs to question.

Many more insistences to drop.

Many more restraints to understand.

Many more moments in which I will forget the witness and identify with the happening.

But perhaps that is okay.

I know the direction.

I know the purpose.

I know that I need to keep walking.

And whenever I realise that I have wandered away, I need to simply turn back and continue.

No drama.

No despair.

No unnecessary guilt.

Just awareness.

Just discernment.

Just Purusharth.

And above all, Saakshibhaav.

Perhaps that is the real beauty of the path.

The deeper the understanding becomes, the less complicated the journey becomes.

And one day, perhaps, I will look back and realise that the path, the walker and the destination were never as separate as I imagined them to be.